Chapter Twelve: Bloody Russian, Crazy American
The walk to the as-of-yet mysterious restaurant was a silent affair. The girl's attitude was about as icy as the Arctic in the middle of December. America wasn't saying anything as they went on their way, wouldn't even look at him, and it was making Russia extremely nervous. For once, he didn't like the silence coming from her. He would have much rather of had a chatty nitwit with him than this frosty companion.
Desperately, Ivan tired to think of something that he could say to her to perhaps break this unbearable silence. "You look nice," he commented, feeling awkward as he did so. "You didn't need to get all dressed up just for me," he teased, hoping she didn't notice how he played with the ends of his scarf.
The blonde didn't find it as funny as he did, apparently. "I didn't do it for you, I did it because of you," she stuck her nose in the air. "If I'm going to be seen with you in public, I'm damn well going to look better than you. Maybe then people will think I took pity on a homeless guy, or something, and took him out to eat."
Ivan scowled right back at her. "Well, that's not going to happen since everyone knows you wouldn't help a homeless man. Not with your policies," he muttered at the end.
"That's totally something a hero would do!" she cried, looking extremely insulted, even stopped walking to glare at him. Thank God she had apparently not heard the policies slight. She probably would have slammed his face into the cement for that one.
"I do not see a hero when I look at you."
It wasn't a lie. Russia might have seen a rival, Ivan, a potential lover, but hero? Not so much. He could admit to loving her, and like his sister said, he accepted her faults as well, and one fault that Ivan saw in the girl was that despite her proclamation of heroism, being on the other end of her wrath, he could hardly say she was his hero.
"Well I see a big fat bastard when I look at you!" America snarled right back.
"I am not fat," the Russian grumbled. "I am…how do you say?…big boned."
"With all that pudge?" she poked his softening belly.
"Big boned," he slapped her hand away angrily.
She snorted. "Well then you got fat bones."
"Coming from the fattest nation in the world," he growled.
"I am not!"
"Oh, don't be modest," he waved her off. "Be proud of your accomplishments."
"I am not the fattest!" she stomped her foot. "I work out."
"Da, we've all noticed," he said without thinking.
America stopped any angry retort she might have said as she stared at the older nation. "You did?"
With a smug smirk, Ivan didn't think twice before he blurted out, "Of course! It was hard not to when you were running around Spain in that skimpy little swimsuit. It was quite revealing, so thank you for that."
The moment he said this, however, Russia decided that maybe he should have taken his own advice and thought this day out more carefully. He had not meant to inform the girl that he had been looking her up and down when she was out on the beach. By saying this he might as well have admitted that he thought she was hot and wanted to ravish her body in all of those deliciously naughty ways that he'd seen and taken part of in his life. There was no way he would ever admit this to her however, and that being the case, comparatively, Ivan was mortified with himself at the moment. His face heated up into a hot pink while America's own face flushed bright red.
Shame descended upon the pair like a hawk upon its prey. They began walking again, neither one knowing who had been the brave soul to put their foot forward first, but they were glad to be moving again, to leave the embarrassment behind them. Ivan avoided eye contact with the girl, and it suited him well enough when he realized that she was doing the same.
A cold wind blew over them, and Russia noticed how America shivered despite the bomber's coat she wore. He wondered why she should be cold, but didn't bother to ask, knowing she would probably tell him to just shut up. Ivan had the idea to offer her his coat, as he had seen in many movies before, but put that idea out of his head immediately. He needed his coat, after all, and while it was not nearly as cold as Siberia in Washington D.C, he still didn't want to be uncomfortable in the chilly air. It would do no good—however unlikely it would occur—if he became ill. It was better to be safe than sorry. Although Ivan was Russia, that didn't mean that he liked the cold. He really didn't, and while he didn't always get as cold as the others, he still did, and he liked his coat.
Damn his rationality! It was always talking him out of romantic gestures. But then, would America notice his actions as being romantic? She hadn't with any of the other nations when they had tried, and they had all had a much better start than he did. He was coming into this with a girl that hated him and had a long history of distrust, so the fact that he was able to get her to agree to go out with him to lunch was a miracle in and of itself and made the Russian feel pretty good about himself. Now, if only he could avoid insulting her any more than he had already on this venture and stop himself from saying anymore embarrassingly awkward and truthful things, then he would be doing very well.
Peaking over once more at his shivering date, Ivan decided that it would do no good to stay silent. He needed to have conversation. Maybe it would do them some good. If he just avoided all the weirdness, that is. Taking a deep breath, the larger nation smiled. "So, America, where will we be dining? McDonalds I assume?" he smirked.
"No," the girl sniffed, sticking her nose in the air. "That's not nearly good enough for going out with you."
Ivan stared at the blonde, shocked. "It-it's not?" he asked, his heart fluttering a bit.
America stared back at him blankly for a moment. "Well yeah, I mean…Wait! No! That's not what I meant! I meant McDonalds is way too good for you! It's awesome, and delicious! The only down side of going to McDonalds with you is that it's too cheap. If you're buying I'm going to make you pay."
"How very…American of you," Russia said flatly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "So where is it that you are taking me then?" So much for that hope.
"McCormick and Schmick's."
Ivan frowned thoughtfully. "I think I've heard of that. What sort of food do they serve?"
"Mostly seafood," America pushed stray hairs out of her face, still acting aloof.
"I've been there before, once," Russia frowned. "If I recall correctly, they're not usually open for lunch."
"I called ahead before I came downstairs," America didn't bother to look at the man next to her. "They owe me a favor and said we could come by."
The Russian nodded once before smirking. "That's what took you so long. And here I was beginning to think you really were just trying to make yourself pretty for me."
No matter how hard he might try—or want to try at least—Ivan could never give up being a bit sassy with the blonde. He liked it. He liked her wit and their word sparing. That's what made America different than the other nations. The others wouldn't play his games, would either retreat or just cower away from him, but not America. She would not be threatened by him, would not let him get away with anything. She was interesting, she was different and her sassy comments were what made her Amelia, and that's why he loved her. To stop this would not only be something Ivan would miss, but it would be like denying a part of himself, and Amelia too. This was who they were, and he loved her despite of it all.
As expected, the girl's face heated up again at the comment. "O-of course not!" Her voice wasn't nearly as calm as it had been before. "I would never …I mean, why would I…Ugh! No. NO. I already told you it was so I could look better than you. Nothing else," she added quickly.
"Whatever you say, Amerika," he shrugged. He thought back to the photo.
Eventually the two made it to the restaurant. Looking at his watch, Ivan realized that it was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon. As he noticed America making to open the door, his arm shot out first and opened it for her instead. She gave him a look, but he just smiled back at her. Although he wouldn't say it out loud, he wanted this to be as close to a date as he could make it. He couldn't be too obvious about it, of course, as that would send America into one of her fits, but even if this lunch came to nothing more than the diffusion of tensions, he would like to give the girl something to look back on fondly. Maybe if he could keep up his good behavior, she would perhaps one day accept him as a potential lover?
Right away, a waitress came up to the two nations and quickly ushered them inside, welcoming them with all the false cheerfulness that all Americans seemed to possess in the working environment. "We've set up a private booth for you, Ms. America," the woman informed them.
"Hey, thanks!" the blonde beamed at the young waitress, winking. The woman smiled back, looking a little unsure at seeing Russia there, but he just smiled his old smile at her, ignoring the way she trembled slightly.
As promised, the waitress showed them to a large booth at the back of the restaurant, handing them their menus as they took their seats across from one another. She quickly left to get them water before she came back to get their drink orders. When the waitress left, America frowned sadly after her. "Sucks that I made her have to come in early," she mused quietly.
"Well, she will just get paid more, da?" Russia tried to give reassurance, though he wasn't all that good at it.
"I guess," America shrugged before turning to her menu to look over the drink options.
Looking at his own, Ivan was a little disappointed, though not surprised, that the restaurant had a noticeably nonexistent vodka selection. It wasn't that he needed it, but he was starting to get nervous and would have liked to have had some. If just to steady his fraying nerves, but it looked as though he was going to have to go without. So, a little putout, he began looking at the wine selections instead.
"Hey," America said, causing the Russian to look up at her. The girl was still staring at her menu, a very focused expression on her face. "Do you wanna get a bottle of Ménage à Trois with me?"
Surprised that she was even willing to share, Ivan nodded slowly. "I suppose…where is it at on the menu?" he asked.
"'Spicy, Earthy, and Sexy Reds'."
"Wh-what?" purple eyes snapped up to stare at the American, shocked.
America finally glanced at the other across from her, looking confused. "It's under the 'Spicy, Earthy, and Sexy Reds'," she frowned. "What's wrong with you?"
"Oh, I see," Ivan nodded quickly, intently staring down at the menu again, trying to fight away the pleasant, though naughty images that came to mind with the word choice of the wines. It was interesting, he had never before truly fantasized about Amelia like this. Maybe this love sickness was getting worse?
"Um, sure, we can get that if you'd like," he added. He was thankful, truly thankful, that America was content with a nearly forty dollar bottle of wine rather than that outrageous one hundred and nine dollar bottle that he spied at the very bottom of the list.
When the waitress came back, America put in their wine order before the other woman scurried away. Ivan was grateful that they at least had bread to munch on. Truth be told, he was starving, not having eaten anything before he'd left home, too nervous and a bit drunk to remember to.
"So," America spoke up again, still looking over the food options carefully. "You gunna start talking or am I just going to have to start ordering the most expensive things on the menu?"
Giving a slight chuckle of appreciation for the dry humor, Russia nodded. "What would you like to know, Amerika? As I said, I am willing to tell you everything you'd like."
Setting down the menu for the first time, folding her hands on the table, the girl scrutinized her dinner partner carefully, like a commander would his platoon. She was looking for weakness, for lies, but Ivan was determined that she not find any fault with him. He had nothing to hide…except his own feelings. But he didn't want to hide those for too much longer anyway. He wanted Amelia to like him first before he did anything too drastic or said too much.
"Why was that whole competition created?" Her voice was hard, yet crisp, as though she were in an intense interrogation.
"It was a plan created by Hungary and France in accordance with Britain's complaint, in an attempt to make you behave in a more feminine manner," Russia state bluntly.
The eyes across from him flashed with hurt, before they were cold once again. "And now they think I need to act more girly?" she spat. "I can't win! One day they're calling me a slut, the next I'm Sapphic or something! That's not fair!" she cried.
The passion she expressed, even in her distress, attracted Ivan. He felt terrible for her and the insults thrown at her, but at the same time, to see those lovely blue eyes light up with such emotions was breathtaking. She was always at her most attractive when she was ardent. Unlike other women, Amelia was not the type to be coy, to be bashful, nor did she necessarily seem the sort to exude a seductiveness in her manners. She was innocent in many respects, was constant in her personal actions more often than not, acting the same around people as she always did. If Ivan had to guess, he would say that most of the time America didn't realize she was flirting when it seemed as though she was.
But he did truly feel bad at the insults always hurled her way. He never used to feel this way, he had once been one of the chief instigators of such rumors or accusations, but now he didn't like them. They were hurtful and derogatory and something that he felt should not be applied to Amelia. Ever.
"So everyone was in it to change me?" the blonde went on, still looking a bit upset.
"Nyet," Russia shook his head quickly, wanting to alleviate some of her pain. "Your brother…Kanada?... he was against it. Germany was also against it, and Austria. Britain was not too sure about it either."
At hearing the names listed, America appeared to calm considerably. She looked almost helpless, very young and unsure as she stared at him thoughtfully. "So…Mattie didn't want to do this?"
"I do not believe so," Ivan shook his head again. "I think he tried to misdirect everyone."
Amelia slouched back in the booth, looking a bit pathetic. "I guess I shouldn't have slammed the door in his face the other day," she muttered.
"He came to see you?" Russia asked.
"Yeah, he and Artie have been coming by a lot to apologize, but I didn't want to talk to them." She winced. "Maybe I should have."
"But you talked to me," The Slav pointed out, confused. "Why would you listen to me and not to your own family?"
"Well it's not like I had much say in the matter, is it?" America glared. "They actually respected my wishes to leave me alone after I told them to leave. You, you big yeti, started breaking down my door and then broke into my house!"
Russia blushed a bit, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly as he smiled. "Well, my way got more results."
Amelia snorted. "Yeah, but I wouldn't recommend doing it anymore. You're lucky I was feeling generous today."
"You held me at gun point."
The poor waitress walked by at that moment and nearly dropped the bottle of wine and glasses. The two nations looked over at her while the woman stared back with wide eyes. Russia didn't like the interruption and chilled his smile, hopefully to ward off the other woman. "If you drop that, I'm not paying for it," he told her kindly.
America rolled her eyes at her dinner partner. "Thanks, I think we're ready to order," she smiled reassuringly at the worker.
"O-okay," the woman nodded shakily before taking out her notepad. "What would you like, ma'am?"
"I'll have the Atlantic salmon, please."
"Very good choice," she smiled at her nation before turning slowly towards the other. "And you, sir?"
Looking down at the food items for the first time, Ivan ordered the first thing that caught his eye. "Da, I will have the swordfish."
Scribbling out the orders quickly, the waitress took their menus. "All right! I'll get this in for you. I'll be back to check on you soon."
When she was gone, America turned back to the Russian. "I always have a gun. I was generous not to shoot you when you broke into my home," she carried on, as though they had not been interrupted at all.
"It was the only way you would listen to me," Ivan defended. "You would have ignored me otherwise."
"You're right. I would have."
"Then how could I have gotten you to listen to me?" Russia scowled, becoming frustrated. "How do you expect anyone to apologize and make amends if all you would do is ignore them?" America's disdainful expression stalled. "You had your brothers come to you because they were worried and wanted to atone themselves, but you left them feeling guilty and to suffer longer than need be. You are very selfish, Amerika."
Bright blue eyes snapped over to peer into amethyst, distress clear alight in them, and shock. "I am not selfish!" the girl nearly shrieked. "All I do for this ungrateful world is give, give, give, and most of the time I don't even get anything in return! I work my ass off to try and keep the world safe, but am I appreciated? No! Everyone just gets angry at me, telling me I'm 'too involved' or that I'm doing something for my own personal gain! Is that fair? No!
"The one time I feel like things are changing, and that maybe people are starting to appreciate me, or at least starting to notice or understand all that I'm trying to do, BAM!" she slammed her hands down on the table. "I find out that it's all a lie. People don't really appreciate me. They don't like me! My own friends, my family, just got bored and wanted to play a game with me. They wanted to change me! Do you know how much that hurts? To know that you're not good enough for anyone? That everyone else in the world hates you? That the only time they can bother to be nice to you is when they'll get a good laugh out of it?"
Russia's eyes clouded over as the speech hit close to his heart. Too close. Again, he knew how America felt. As the Soviet Union, he was never appreciated, never liked. He had received only irrational hatred and suspicion by everyone, when all he had wanted to do was to make a place where things were fair, equal! Was that so bad? To want the world to be a better place?
But of course such goals were impossible, utopias never within reach. He had learned a hard lesson then, had received so much anger from the rest of the world, and to a point, still did. He understood where America was coming from, understood how frustrating and defeating it could be when you honestly and sincerely poured your heart into something, with the only rewards being cries of fury.
Lucky for Ivan, however, the little American across from him had not noticed his momentary lack of focus. It was sometimes a blessing that she was unable to sense the mood of the room, as the Slav had not wanted another awkward silence like they had already shared when in America's house earlier. It was just easier and less revealing should she not be aware.
"No," the girl went on, turning away from her dinner partner. "If I want to be mad at them, then I'll damn well be mad at them as long as I please! It's their own fault! They need to know that they can't keep doing this to me. I'm not someone that they can just push around. I'll not be made to look like a fool at their digression!"
Despite knowing that she had a right to be furious, knowing that it would be easier to feed her anger, Ivan found he couldn't. He had become so bitter, allowed to fester in his own hatred in the past due to personal misfortunes. But to have someone as young and striking as America become more like him…it would be tragic. Without fully understanding why he felt this way, Ivan made up his mind that America could not be left to stew in her own rage, and the only way to save her was to help her see the other side.
"It is true," Russia admitted. "You should not have to be part of their games. But isn't it a better thing to do to hear the others' apologies? To forgive them? Besides," the Slav smiled a bit puckishly, "after you forgive them, won't they feel worse because you were the bigger person? What is that phrase you used to always tell me? 'Kill them with…kindness?'"
America stared at the Russian blankly without blinking. Ivan couldn't tell what she was thinking, as she stared, but it was starting to make him feel uncomfortable. The awkwardness was only felt on his side, he was sure, but Russia was relieved when the waitress came out with their food before she left them to eat before she returned to check on them again.
When Amelia didn't move, Ivan decided that if things were going to return to any sort of sense of normality, he would have to be the one to take the initiative. Taking up the wine bottle, he popped it open with practiced skill before pouring them each a glass. It smelled wonderful, the wine, the food, everything. Normally, he wasn't sure red wine went with their type of meal, but he didn't say anything. This was what America had wanted, and he would oblige her and her oddities today.
"Better eat up before it gets cold," he told her as he took up his fork and knife.
Minutes stretched on, Russia eating his food slowly, waiting for the other to begin, while the American stared on. At last, however, she spoke. "I don't understand you."
Ivan smirked. "You're not supposed to."
"I mean it," the girl pressed. "What's your angle?"
"My 'angle'?"
A horrible scowl shadowed over America's face as she leaned forward menacingly. It wasn't too often that the western nation could frighten Russia, but that look actually did a bit. "What do you want from me?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Leaning back instinctively, Ivan's first intuition was to grab something and smash it over America's head when she glared at him like that. But reminding himself that situations that required that reaction were long gone and that he was trying to win the girl over stayed the man's itching hands. Instead, he set about trying to find a good reason, trying to remember his English which seemed to have been sucked out of him when she glared at him with such malevolence burning in those usually warm eyes.
"Nothing," he shook his head, amazed that the strange Germanic language actually came out instead of his own.
"Don't give me that," the blonde growled, reminding Ivan of a tiger. It was actually breathtaking. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
"I…Well…You were being nice to me," his accent was thicker than normal, but he was pleased he had at least gotten the syntax correct.
He didn't have time to worry about how childish the answer sounded before America barked out a biting laugh. "Of course I was! I was trying to be nice to everyone. But that's not the point. The point is that you've gone above and beyond the normal call of duty to making amends after offending another country. An e-mail would have been typical, a call even. But not showing up at my door and offering to take me out for lunch. And what's even more unusual" —Ivan swallowed hard—"is that now you're even telling me not to be angry and are trying to get me to forgive my family so quickly! 'Kill them with kindness'? Are you serious? Where the hell is the Russia that I know and distrust so much?"
Feeling at a great disadvantage, like he was being attacked unprepared, Ivan mustered up his own scowl, before he leaned in as well. "Did you ever stop and think, you selfish, thoughtless girl, that you're not the only one who is trying to change?" Amelia blinked. "I am honestly trying to put forth an effort to get closer, to not be so aggressive towards you, and you jump down my throat the first chance you get while I am try to prove it. All you ever think about is yourself, did you ever stop to think that that's the reason people don't like you?"
Silence.
Once again, the two great nations of the east and west were locked in a battle of wills, glaring at each other from across the table. Russia tried to pour old grievances and anger into his glare, but found he couldn't. Times were changing, and all he could see now was the smiling photo of himself and Amelia from long ago, standing together happily, like there was nothing wrong with the world. How could he keep up this façade? He didn't hate America. He loved Amelia. To act like this was starting to cause him bodily discomfort. It physically hurt to have to be like this.
"Shit!" America broke contact, as she stared down at the table with wide eyes.
At her surprised, alarmed expression, Ivan began to panic as well. Had Amelia realized what he was trying to do? Had she actually been able to piece together his affections for her? That was impossible! Everyone knew that Americans were too dense to understand someone else's feelings but their own! But maybe this competition had made her the wiser for it? Maybe she had finally come to understand what it meant when someone revered her in such away?
Those beautiful blue eyes were back on Russia's face looking worried before she began scooting around the big horseshoe booth, almost tentatively, closer to him. Ivan became lightheaded and he just knew he was blushing. Why was she coming closer to him? Surely she wasn't just going to throw away sense and reason because she figured out that he loved her, would she? That was not in Amelia's character. Why wasn't she still angry?
Ivan became more and more confused as the American kept coming his way. Finally, she stopped when she was less than an inch away from him. She looked down, Russia kept his eyes locked on her face, and before he knew it, he felt once again a searing heat around his heart.
Blinking rapidly, finding that he needed to lean back to keep himself upright, Ivan looked down for the first time. For the second time in a year, he saw his heart in Amelia's hands, blood dripping between her fingers. She looked a little worried, as she had the last time this situation had occurred, but she remained focused on her task.
With what seemed to be growing practiced skill, she unbuttoned his shirt with one hand while the other held onto his heart gently. She undid all of the buttons before pushing up his undershirt to find the hole she knew would be there.
The Slav stayed perfectly still as he watched the American work. His face was burning, and his heart was beating wildly. He wasn't sure why, but this heat was enthralling. He hadn't noticed before when it had happened, but this fire that seemed to consume his heart was beautiful. There was pain that accompanied it, to be sure, but there was also a pleasure, one that outweighed whatever discomfort he might feel. The balance it created was stunning.
When she had finally completed her trials, Amelia, with both hands now, placed the heart back into the hole from whence it had come, keeping her hands over it while the flesh mended together, as though by keeping her hands in place, it might help seal the heart away more securely. They stayed there like that for several minutes, neither one saying a word. Ivan was leaning back, sweating, trying to see the blonde's face, while America seemed determined to hide.
"Will…will it be okay?" Amelia's voice came out soft, almost small, sounding so unlike herself that it surprised the Russian, as she lowered her hands away from him.
"D-da. It should be," he nodded slowly. "It can stay out for a while, remember?" He did not like how distressed she sounded.
"Will it stay in now?" she asked, looking up with wide eyes.
"Da, I think it's scarred up again." He lifted his shirt up once more and true enough, the normal large scar was once more painted across his chest.
The blonde looked away again, her cheeks burning red. "Did…did I cause that to happen?"
Seeing her look so guilty, so distraught was something that Russia would have paid to have seen long ago, but now it only made his heart ache. "I do not know," he lied. "Sometimes it just…comes out."
Still refusing to look up, Amelia gave a shaky sigh. "Y-you're right, you know," she confessed quietly, running a nervous hand through her hair. "I am selfish. I don't like to think about others, especially if I think they've done something wrong to me. I didn't want to forgive Artie or Mattie because…well, because they had hurt me… And well…You were right about everything."
It was not often that Ivan regretted harsh words. He usually stated them because they were true, but now that didn't seem to help matters any. A part of him wanted to recant the words, make her feel better, but another part knew that she had to realize her faults, had to learn a lesson. America was still quite young, still had yet to experience or live with situations that the rest of Europe or the east had for hundreds of years now. Ivan wouldn't wish some of his experiences on the girl, of course, but he did want her to learn from them, to listen to him so that she wouldn't make the same mistakes he had.
"You are still young," he said gently. "Your actions might not always be acceptable, but they are, in part, understandable how you feel and view the world. You are still changing and coming into your own."
America looked up at him, her eyes shielded. "You know," she said gently. "You really do understand where I'm coming from, don't you? You know what it's like, don't you? The hurt, the betrayal? You really do understand what it's like to be on the top, but with the world against you."
Russia said nothing as he looked down.
"That's why I like you." Ivan snapped his head up to stare disbelievingly at the girl beside him. "I do," the blonde admitted, her face tinged with red, though her eyes were set, determined. "Unlike everyone else, you get it. You always have. We're not so very different, are we? I mean, we've always been different from the rest of the world, neither one of us European, though not eastern. We have so much western influence, and yet we've always been looked down upon by Europe. But we showed them, didn't we?" she smiled bitterly. "We became the most powerful nations in the world in the end. We proved that we didn't need them."
Once more, the Russian's thoughts went back to the old photo that was sitting in the back of America's shelves, back to a time when they had always talked so familiarly like this. Always saying that one day soon, they would be the ones Europe looked to, that one day they'd be the ones who got to laugh last. And in the end, with tragic twists and turns along the way, they had been right, and what they had dreamed about had come true, though not how they had imagined. Neither one had laughed.
"We did," Ivan nodded slowly, finding it was hard to form words when such sparkling eyes were upon him.
Slowly, for the first time since coming to North America, Amelia's lips began to twitch and a soft smile seemed to grow on her face. A real smile also came to Ivan's features when he realized this. It seemed that no matter what, he and America were destined for conflict, but from that difference came deeper understanding and mutual growth. Perhaps there was a chance for love after all? Perhaps Ivan wasn't just chasing a dream. Maybe he could make this work.
The moment of understanding was ruined, however, with the sound of shattering class and a shrill scream.
The two nations, startled, turned to stare to the left to find their waitress gawking at them with wide brown eyes. There was a pool of water and broken glass around her feet, which had probably once been a pitcher moments before. The woman's hands were shaking as she pointed a finger from one personification to the other. When neither Amelia nor Ivan knew what to say, and just sat there, the poor girl screamed again and ran off, back towards the kitchen.
Ivan and Amelia watched her go with confusion before they looked at one another. Amelia looked down at Ivan's shirt, while Ivan stared at Amelia's hands and hair. When they caught each other's eyes again, they both burst out laughing, loud and long as they looked at all the blood that had been smeared around.
"O-oh my God, that's sooooo f-funny!" the blonde gasped out, leaning onto Russian's shoulder as she continued to shake with mirth.
"H-her face!" the Slav laughed, slamming his fist down on the table. Their booming hilarity probably didn't help the rest of the staff feel at ease, but at the same time, neither nation particularly cared at the moment.
"We should totally order Bloody Mary's now!" Amelia cackled.
"Bloody Brain," Ivan smirked.
"Bloody Brit!" America hooted happily.
"Bloody Caesar."
"Bloody Shame!"
"Bloody Pearl Harbor—Ouch! What was that for?" Russia rubbed his arm, glaring at the girl.
"Don't think of making any wisecracks, Mr. Red Rasputin," the girl glared, though there was humor twinkling in her eyes.
Rolling his eyes at the joke, Ivan pushed the other nation—none to gently— away from him, causing the girl to fall almost completely over. "Is Rasputin the only Russian Americans know about?"
Amelia laughed again before sitting back up, shaking her blonde head. "No. There's Ivan the Terrible."
"Oh look, the American can make a joke," the Slav replied dryly, before patting her on the head. "Good for you, malisha."
Still smiling impishly, Amelia swatted his hand away. The blonde chuckled a bit for a moment before saying, "We should probably go clean ourselves up before they come back and freak out again."
Ivan pouted playfully. "Where would the fun in that be?"
America pushed him so that he nearly fell out of the booth. "Get walking, Komrade Kol," she smirked.
Rolling his eyes, Russia snorted. "Fine. On the condition that you never call me that again."
"No dice," the girl shook her head. "I like that name too much," she winked. "But if you do wash up, I promise to be a polite lunch date and sit and listen to all your weird stories," she smiled innocently.
"My stories are not weird! You're the one that always talks about painting armadillos."
"That was just the one time!" America cried. "And it was a good story! Admit it, you liked it."
"It was about as funny as a root canal," he snorted.
Amelia laughed. "That's funny!" Ivan felt a bit pleased with himself. "What do Russians know about dental care?"
The good feeling was gone once again. Ivan felt no regret as he pushed the American away from him with as much force as he dared use in public. It knocked the girl over flat against the seat. "Ouch!" she cried.
"Russians have good dental hygiene, thank you," he defended. "Just because we don't go showing it off to everyone like you Americans do doesn't mean that we—"
"We don't show off!" the girl cried. "We're just a naturally happy people."
The Slav decided not to comment upon that as he snorted. The good natured bickering continued between the two before they had a chance to get up and wash themselves off as the manager and the cook came out with the still pale waitress. When the manager demanded to know what had happened, the two personifications had an interesting time explaining to them just what had occurred without causing panic. But because of America's brilliant oratory skills and beginning it all off with "Don't worry, his heart just fell out of the big hole in his chest" they were not successful in keeping horror levels low.
It was as he was listening to America try to calm her people down, even at one point tried to reach out to the frightened waitress with bloody hands, that Ivan decided that the girl was crazy. She had started off the day furious with him, and now it was almost as if she had never found out about the competition. Had he really gotten through to her, made her understand that his intentions were at least good? Only time would tell, but for the time being, he was happy to be back into this easy teasing and mocking.
And he knew now without a trace of doubt in his mind now, that he loved her, and all of her ridiculousness.
Author's Note: A lot of people don't like the "love-hate" couples, but aren't they just more interesting to read/play with? ^^ If Amelia's emotions seemed to swing back and forth a little, remember that she is struggling with a lot of feelings right now, and more will be explained next time. :)
Food/ Drinks: I was just in Washington D.C. two weeks ago while on tour, so I kept my eyes open for restaurants. McCormick and Schmick's Seafood has three locations in the D.C. area. I got menus and times for the restaurants, so everything I've alluded to in this including food/drinks and prices, should be accurate.
And if you hadn't figured it out, everything (including the title) with the word "Bloody" in this is an alcoholic drink. The only one I've ever had was a Bloody Mary, but eh, please don't go out and try all of these just because you know they exist now…or at least not all at once. As our good friend Captain Morgan says "Drink Responsibly!"
Fat Ratios: Technically, America is not the fattest country in the world when looking at the percentage of the population. According to Forbes, the USA has dropped down to 9th at 74.1% Nauru is said to be the largest at 94.5%. BUT before you say anything, Americans, that's not something to be proud of, 9th still sucks. The Russian Federation is at 92nd at 49.1%.
Russian: малышa- malisha- (f) little one.
'Nother Note: Sorry this took a while to get up. Things were crazy with touring and getting back into school…and then I got engaged when I got back, so blame it on my new and shiny fiancé. ^^ Anyway, hope you enjoyed this! And questions or comments, feel free to let me know. Thanks everyone!